


Nightmares and Other Scary Dreams

by LadyAda



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Nightmares, cute idiots, you all know how this one goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 01:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8512948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAda/pseuds/LadyAda
Summary: You have read this fic before and you will read it again. There are at least a dozen of these for any ship in existence.
-
Erin has nightmares and Holtzmann does her best to help. They both have feelings and too many issues to just talk about them. It's got a happy ending though.





	

Holtzmann is staring. She's very aware of the fact, conscious that any moment Erin is bound to look up and catch her, but she can't tear her eyes away. She's not confident she'll be able to tear her eyes away even when Erin catches her.

Erin is sitting at her desk, ankles crossed under her chair, chewing on the end of her pencil as she puzzles over something that Holtzmann assumes is a very complex physics problem (it's not. It's last week's Sunday crossword. She does physics in pen because she never needs to erase). She eventually does look up, and straight at Holtzmann.

“Holtzmann!”

Holtzmann grinned.

“Your sleeve is on fire.” She looks back down at her crossword as Holtzmann dumps a nearby cup of coffee, long cooled, onto her sleeve. She'd felt the burning as the tip of the soldering iron heated her sleeve to the point where it combusted, but she hadn't thought to do anything about it, too busy appreciating the way the morning sun glinted in Erin's red hair.

She strips down to her sports bra, glancing at Erin to see if she notices. She does—she blushes furiously, still looking down at her crossword. Holtzmann grins triumphantly as she makes her way to the third floor in search of fresh shirt.

***

That night, Holtzmann (who never goes to bed before four) is wrestling with a helium cooling system that has a distressing tendency to explode, when Erin comes downstairs.

“You're up late,” Holtz says.

Erin jumps. “Couldn't sleep. Why are you up?”

“It's not my bedtime yet.”

“Holtz, it's two in the morning.”

“I know. I still have a couple of hours left.”

Erin shakes her head and goes down to the first floor. Holtzmann follows her, and finds her in the kitchen making tea. She sits at the table, waiting for it to steep, and Holtzmann sneaks up behind her. “Erin, dear.”

She jumps again. “Dammit, Holtzmann, don't sneak around like that!”

Holtzmann lays her hands on Erin's shoulders, rubbing the stiffness out of her muscles. “Why can't you sleep?”

“I have nightmares. Still—since I was a kid. Not often anymore.” Erin is tired, Holtz can hear it in her voice. The kind of bone-tired that comes after many nights of poor sleep, and Holtzmann wonders if the nightmares are coming perhaps more often than Erin is letting on.

“About the ghost? Your neighbor, I mean.”

“Yeah, that one. Other things too, sometimes. My therapist said it was a habit—your brain gets into the habit of telling you things through nightmares, you keep having them. She never said how to stop, though. I took sleep meds in high school.”

“Maybe you need to listen to your brain another way. Do you journal?”

“No.”

“Give it a try.”

Erin nods, but she doesn't look like she means it.

***

The next morning, Erin is so tired she can barely fix herself coffee. She woke up twice more in the night, sweaty and flailing. The worst ones these days are the nightmares where she jumps into Hell after Abby and there's no one to pull them back.

Her desk is on the second floor, in Holtzmann's lab, rather than in the first floor office. They spent so much time running up and down the stairs with half-finished equations and blueprints in the first week that when she woke up one morning to find Holtzmann and Kevin carrying her desk upstairs she didn't say a word, just slipped behind them and gathered the trail of paper and pens they were scattering in their wake.

She sets the too-milky coffee on her desk and finds a blank notebook, bound nicely in blue paper, sitting on top of her most recent draft. She looks at Holtzmann, dancing as she assembles a frame for her new project. Erin wants to say thank you, but she feels like she should be offended by the somewhat pushy gesture, so she doesn't. She does, grudgingly, write the nightmares from earlier in the journal. She isn't sure why Holtz thinks it will help, but she just wants a decent night's sleep, and the drugs she used to take didn't do anything about the nightmares. They just ensured she couldn't wake up from them.

Holtzmann notices her writing in the journal and grins. She feels a warm flutter in her heart at the sight of Erin using her gift, and hopes it helps.

***

Maybe it is helping. Erin sleeps soundly through the next night, and the one after. When she eventually has another nightmare, Holtzmann is right outside her door, close enough to hear her scream. It's four-thirty and she's on her way to bed, but she opens Erin's door instead.

“Erin, wake up!” she says, taking her shoulders and pulling her into a hug.

Erin wakes up and is immediately aware of the smell. Motor oil and musk, and maybe something floral. She recognizes Holtzmann's scent before she realizes she'd in someone's arms, but when she does notice, she buries her face deep in Holtzmann's neck, trying to stop shaking, hoping Holtz doesn't notice the tears dropping onto her bare shoulder.

Of course, Holtzmann does notice, and she holds Erin even closer. She's trying to be a good friend, she tells herself. No good thinking about the straight girl in her arms any other way. Best not to imagine Erin kissing her neck or maybe biting it gently. “Are you okay?” she asks Erin, trying to draw her thoughts back into the present before all is lost.

Erin nods, then shakes her head. “I'm sorry. I did what you said, you know.” She points at the blue journal on her nightstand to clarify. “I thought it was working, but...”

“Don't be sorry for having a nightmare, Erin.”

“I hope I didn't wake you up.”

“No, I was just on my way to bed.”

“Oh. Sorry. You should go to sleep, then. It's late.”

“Oh, okay.” Holtzmann gets up to go. She can't keep the disappointment out of her voice, even though it makes no sense. Why does she want to stay with Erin any longer, when it clearly makes her imagine things she shouldn't be thinking about?

She's acting irrationally, and she knows it, but her heart soars when she feels a tug at her sleeve and hears Erin say, “Wait.”

“What's up?”

“I know I'm asking a lot. But I can't go back to sleep if you leave, I'm too scared. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to sleep here?”

Every rationally-thinking neuron in her brain screams, 'No! Danger! Don't even think about it!' but those thoughts are drowned out by the less rational ones, which are giddy at the mere thought. “I wouldn't mind at all,” she says with a smile, and slides under the covers with Erin against her better judgment. She knows she's gone to far when she puts an arm around Erin's waist and, at just the lightest pull, Erin snuggles closer.

***

The next morning, Erin has barely opened her eyes before Holtzmann is dressed and scurrying out the door.

“Holtz,” she says softly, wondering why Holtzmann is so eager to get away from her. Her heart sinks and she's sure she asked too much of Holtz, who has been so kind to her and so helpful with the nightmares. The guilt is overwhelming, and she tries to decide if it's better to try and make it up to Holtz or to give her extra space. She decides extra space is probably what Holtzmann needs at the moment, and waits for half an hour before she hurries down through the lab to the kitchen for breakfast, regretting, for the first time, letting Holtz move her desk upstairs.

Holtzmann, already at her workbench, watches Erin dart past with a horrible ache in her chest. She wants to call out—anything. “I love you,” is what she really wants to say, but she has a feeling it's too much. She finally comes up with, “I don't bite,” but Erin is already at the bottom of the stairs and doesn't hear her.

Abby notices first. She's used to Holtzmann's antics—when they worked together at the Higgins Institute she'd practically brought a different woman home every week. Abby had caught onto this quickly as many jilted lovers looked Holtzmann up and bursted furiously into their lab on Monday mornings. Holtzmann often hid, leaving long-suffering Abby to deal with the angry women.

Abby had warned Holtzmann not to get to close to Erin—a serious warning to Holtz as much as it was a dig at Erin. Erin may not have realized this, but Abby's warning told Holtzmann that she wasn't to toy with Erin's heart. She may have been a terrible friend, but she was Abby's friend nonetheless, and Holtzmann wouldn't be pulling her usual hit-and-run with Abby's friend. Except Holtzmann had already decided that for herself. Erin walked in with the stiffest shoulders that Holtzmann had ever seen, and she knew instantly that she wanted to see Erin come undone. But upon seeing Abby for the first time in years, Erin's face betrayed something very delicate about her, and Holtzmann wasn't sure it would sit well on her conscience to tear her facade apart if she wasn't going to stick around to help her put herself back together. Best stay out of that one, she'd decided. She kept flirting anyways, because Erin was cute when she blushed.

Thinking back, it would have been better to stop right then and there.

Abby rounds on Holtz in the second-floor laboratory which Erin has been avoiding all day. “Alright. Either you're working on something terrifyingly radioactive, or you've got some drama with Erin that's going unaddressed. Either way, stop it right now.”

“I don't know why she's avoiding me,” Holtz says. It's half true.

“Bullshit.”

“Well, I spent the night in her bed. But that was all, I swear! No hanky-panky,” she finishes with a wink, but her heart isn't in it.

“Why?” Abby is genuinely confused. Holtzmann usually either goes for it or she doesn't, there's not much of grey area with her.

“She was having nightmares. She asked me to, she was too scared to fall back asleep.”

“Oh dear.” Abby has gone from vaguely annoyed to properly concerned. “She'd having nightmares again?”

“Yeah. She got up for tea a week ago and she seemed like she hadn't had a solid night's sleep in a few days already. I told her to journal and she slept well for two nights but last night she had another one.”

“And you slept over.” Holtz nods. “And let me guess. You bolted first thing this morning?” Another nod. “Dammit, Holtz. Did you have to abandon her like that?”

“I...she...It's complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Holtzmann is silent, looking down at her workbench. She can't explain to Abby, it would be a betrayal. Of their whole family. “Fine, don't tell me. Just make sure you patch things up. Today. She thinks she's hurt you, I can see it in her face. So if that's not the case, make sure she knows it.”

“It's not. Why would she think that?!” Holtzmann sounds alarmed.

Abby shakes her head. “Man, you're clueless.”

“I'll make it up to her.” Holtzmann is as good as her word. She follows Abby downstairs and makes two cups of hot chocolate, setting one on Erin's desk.

Erin looks up, startled. “For me?”

“No, for that brutish crossword you're glaring at. Come drink it in the lab with me? I need a break so I don't blow us all sky high.”

Erin laughs, gathers up her crossword, her notebook, and the hot chocolate, and follows Holtz upstairs, where they sit on the couch and drink and Holtz lipsyncs along with gooey romantic eighties pop and thinks that she might have to make a new playlist, one that doesn't have so many love songs on it. But then, Erin blushes as she watches Holtz perform, and she looks so lovely that Holtzmann isn't sure she could bear to change it up.

'I've done it again,' she thinks. 'I've fallen for a straight girl.' She wonders if this time she'll be able to slow things down before she ruins it all. The last few times, she's seduced the women, given them the best sex of their life (or so she likes to think, but if they only fuck men, how hard can that be?) and fled, never speaking to them again.

That was before she had a family. That's how she likes to think of it, anyways, their group, all living together in the third floor of the firehouse. It really is like a family—they eat meals together and everything. It's the closest thing she's ever had to a family, at least the kind that loves you like they're supposed to. And here she is, about to throw it all away for one night with a girl who she now calls one of her closest friends, who she'll never see again if she lets things get that far. She knows it's a horrible decision, but she isn't sure she'll be able to stop herself. Her only hope is that Erin will be impossible to seduce, but she knows damn well that isn't the case. She can already get Erin to blush with just a wink. If she turns the flirting on high power, she estimates she could have Erin leaping eagerly into her bed in just a few days.

Instead, she turns her energy to solving the problem of Erin's nightmares. She feels the desire building with every brush of their skin, she knows it's just a matter of time before she can't help herself and starts flirting with Erin in earnest. In the meantime, she releases the pressure bit by bit, with a wink here and a clever innuendo there. She wants to draw out the time she has with the Ghostbusters as much as possible before it all blows up in her face.

***

Erin keeps journaling, and Holtzmann takes a few minutes around eleven every night to brew a cup of tea (usually lavender and chamomile, sometimes lemon balm or mint thrown in for variety) before Erin goes to bed. She asks Erin every morning how she slept, and notices that the lemon balm blend seems to produce the best results, so she starts adding that every night.

Erin is sitting at her desk two weeks after she asked Holtzmann to spend the night with her, wondering if her sleep-deprived, frightened mind hadn't had an ulterior motive. She knows what she'd felt that night wasn't just relief at the comfort of a friend's company. She knows what it means when her heart leaps at every brush of their skin. She doesn't know what it means that Holtzmann brought her tea every night, just like she didn't know what it meant when Holtzmann fled from her room that morning only to make her hot chocolate and invite her back upstairs an hour later. She isn't sure in the least how she's meant to interpret the signals she's receiving from Holtzmann. And she wants nothing more than to be sure, so she can either act, or get on with the difficult business of getting over her.

Holtzmann appears at the top of the stairs with a cup of tea, and makes straight for Erin's desk. She looks at her watch, surprised to see that it's already eleven. Now that she's able to get quality sleep most nights, she's no longer about to pass out on her desk by the time eleven rolls around.

“Here you go, sweet cheeks,” says Holtz with grin, setting the delicious-smelling tea gingerly on a stack of paper—there is no clear spot on Erin's desk, ever, so she takes what she can get. Erin takes the tea gratefully, and moves to the couch, as is her habit. She pats the cushion next to her and Holtzmann comes over, settling in. This is how they usually spend the last half hour before Erin goes to bed, sitting and talking about the day. If Erin is worried about anything, Holtzmann says every night, this is the time to talk about it, so it doesn't surface in her dreams. Tonight, she can sense that Erin is worried by the way she looks into her teacup, as if hoping for an answer, and avoids meeting Holtz's eyes. “Erin, what is it?”

“It's nothing.”

“Will it be nothing if it shows up in your head tonight?”

Erin imagines horrible dreams of Holtz rejecting her—worse, maybe. Holtz dying before she has the nerves to say anything? She's learned over the years that her brain can be pretty cruel when it wants an issue addressed. The nightmares didn't start when she saw the ghost. They started when she started lying about it—repressing it.

“I can't talk about it.”

“I don't want to push you,” Holtzmann says, and it's the tenderness in her voice that does it.

“I'm worried...oh, dammit. I'm worried about what you think of me, Holtz.” She can't bring herself to be more specific, she'll just have to hope Holtz gives her a satisfactory answer anyways.

“What? How...how could you worry about that?” Holtzmann asks, fear cutting through her chest like a knife. 'She knows,' she thinks. 'I screwed it all up!'

Erin gulps, not wanting to explain.

Holtzmann wonders if maybe she doesn't know, if maybe this is another sort of worry, and her heart aches to think that Erin doesn't know how special she is. “Erin, you know I think the world of you,” she says, hoping that doesn't give too much away. But she wonders if maybe this isn't her chance—if Erin knows there's an emotional attachment, she won't let Holtz seduce her. She won't sleep with someone who has feelings for her if she doesn't return them. It would be cruel, and Erin Gilbert is never cruel. Holtzmann isn't even sure she knows how.

But if she tells Erin and Erin is disgusted, she'll have to leave anyways. She knows it's best to tell Erin before things get out of hand—maybe she'll be understanding and things will be awkward but they'll avoid each other for a while and then it'll be okay. And at least she won't lose Abby and Patty. She'll still have her family.

“But do you like me as a person?” Erin asks, more hopefully this time. That's as close as she can get to asking what she really wants to know.

“I...” Holtzmann hesitates, but Erin doesn't. She jumps straight to the worst conclusion.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I'll...go now,” she says, standing and leaving the tea half drunk on her desk as she makes for the stairs. It doesn't matter, she thinks. She won't be sleeping anyhow.

“Wait. Erin.” Holtzmann calls at her retreating form, hoping she'll turn around. She stops, but doesn't turn. Good enough. “I love you.” There. She's said it. She stops and waits for the world to come crashing down, but it doesn't. Instead, Erin turns around. She may have been crying, it's too dark to tell. But she's smiling, there is no doubt about that. Holtzmann is floored. How on earth can she be smiling at that?

“You do?” She sounds happy. Holtzmann nods.

Erin crosses the room quickly and pulls Holtzmann into a tentative hug.

Holtzmann is utterly stunned. She can't believe Erin hasn't fled. Erin almost seems happy about Holtz's confession, but that makes very little sense. So she does what any self-respecting scientist would do. She tests the hypothesis. Meaning, she kisses Erin. On the lips. Not quite sure where she found the courage, but desperate to see what will happen. What happens is that Erin kisses her back. She reaches a hand around the back of Holtzmann's head and pulls her deeper into the kiss. She opens her mouth and moans softly when Holtz slips her tongue between Erin's lips, she sucks at it gently, she leans in closer and whimpers when Holtzmann pulls away. Holtzmann is shocked. Completely astonished. Not quite sure she isn't dreaming, but if she is, she's determined to make the most of it. She kisses Erin's neck, sucking gently and nearly swooning when Erin moans. She leads Erin back to the couch, laying her down gently, and they make out for nearly five minutes before Holtzmann has the nerves to take things further.

She slips her hand up Erin's skirt, then pauses, silently asking for permission. Erin makes eye contact and moans while Holtzmann strokes the tender skin on the inside of her thigh. “Please, Holtz!” she begs, and Holtzmann feels herself getting wetter at the sound of it. She obliges, sliding her fingers gently through the warm folds of Erin's cunt, which she is pleased to find is already dripping.

Maybe Erin isn't so straight after all.

Erin moans when Holtz pushes a finger inside her (only as far as the first knuckle) and whimpers when she draws it back out. Holtzmann uses the same hand to cover Erin's mouth, letting Erin taste her own cunt.

“Sssshhhh,” she says as Erin squirms beneath her hand. “You don't want to wake up Abby or Patty.” Erin gulps and stiffens, falling completely silent. Holtzmann undoes the buttons on her blouse with her spare hand, and unzips the skirt as Erin shrugs out of her blouse. She removes Erin's bra with practiced fingers and takes one nipple into her mouth, kissing gently at first, then sucking until Erin is biting back moans.

Holtz takes her time, working Erin into a frenzy with soft touches that never last _quite_ long enough, and kisses that leave them both panting and eager for more.

Erin is begging, “Please Holtz! Please, I need you,” by the time she gets around to fucking her in earnest. She's always liked it best this way, slow at the start, lots of time to build up to it. She thinks it's more pleasurable that way for her lover, but she knows she has more fun. The longer she spends working up to it, the longer she can enjoy her lover's face as she writhes in pleasure, the more she gets to hear her name breathed out in reverent bliss.

“Oh.  _Jillian!_ ” It's never sounded quite so good as it sounds on Erin's lips. Jillian. If Erin is calling her that now, the most undone she's ever seen her, does that mean she calls her Jillian in her head? Maybe, has she imagined this very thing happening, imagined moaning  _Jillian_ before tonight? God, has she...Holtzmann shudders with lust at the image of Erin masturbating and calling her name.

“ Erin...” she mumbles into Erin's breast, teasing her nipple as she finally,  _finally_ fucks two fingers into Erin's cunt. She's done being slow—this is the grand finale and she'd giving it all she's got. Erin's g-spot is easy to find, and Holtzmann quickly clamps her free hand over Erin's mouth when it becomes evident she can no longer suppress her moans. Erin mumbles something through Holtz's hand that sounds a lot like  ' more,  please' and Holtzmann grins lustily as she slides a third finger into Erin. Erin is bucking her hips and fucking herself on Holtz's fingers so she barely has to do more than curl them up into the spongy flesh before she feels Erin's muscles clench and spasm, a rush of warm fluid sliding down her wrist. She leaves her fingers inside Erin, kissing her through the aftershocks, mumbling “I love you” into her neck, and “Erin, Erin, oh, Erin,” and hoping that this isn't the end, that it wasn't a mistake, that Erin wants what she wants—forever. She wants forever with Erin.

***

They lie on the couch, embracing, for easily half an hour. Holtz tries to get up twice, assuming Erin's silence means it's time to go, but Erin tugs her closer, tight in her arms. 

Holtzmann is horribly confused. Erin hasn't said a word since, “Jillian, oh! Jillian! Oh  _God!_ ” when she came, and possibly, Holtzmann can't be sure because it was said directly into her chest and quite muffled, what sounded like “I love you.” But she isn't kicking Holtzmann off the couch. She's lying quietly and breathing and holding tight. 

Finally she moves. She plants a kiss firmly on Holtzmann's neck, just where it meets her shoulder. She kisses upwards, progressively softer until she reaches Holtzmann's earlobe and Holtz isn't sure she's really there at all. Then Holtz feels her tongue, and her lips clamp more tangibly onto her earlobe and she sucks it, gently, into her mouth.

Meanwhile her hands and fiddling with overall straps, and Holtzmann is vaguely astonished. Few of the women she's taken to bed have had much interest in pleasuring her. Usually they are content with what she can give them, and they let her handle the rest herself.  Erin has other plans, it appears, but she is kissing Holtzmann's mouth now, and Holtzmann's hand is in her hair so she couldn't look down at the troublesome overall strap if she wanted to, which she doesn't. Luckily Holtzmann catches on and undoes them herself, letting Erin focus on the crop top. They break apart momentarily while Erin lifts this over her head, and again for the sports bra. They kiss freely as Holtzmann shimmies out of her overalls and lets Erin help her out of her shorts. Erin then slides off the couch, slowly dropping her knees to the floor and kissing every inch of Holtzmann on her way down, from her collarbone to her pert nipples (one of which is pierced!) straight down to...oh! Erin's mouth hovers briefly above her target before she feels Holtzmann's fingers twining in her hair, gently guiding her head down. She isn't sure where to start, exactly, knowing that Holtzmann's clit may be too sensitive for her to go straight for it without any preamble. She hesitates momentarily before licking a straight line up Holtzmann's slit, already dripping. Her tongue dips inside for a split second and Holtzmann groans, fingers tightening in her hair. 

Emboldened, she finds the entrance again with her tongue and licks deeper, letting her tongue rest inside momentarily, exploring, tasting, before withdrawing it and drawing it up over her entire vulva once more, broad and flat. She licks over the clit this time, though not focusing on it directly, and Holtzmann's hips buck involuntarily. It's a slight movement, but her nose is briefly buried i n Holtz's vulva and she feels herself growing wet again at the scent.

She slides her hand from Holtzmann's waist upwards, easily finding the pierced nipple with her fingers and teasing it gently. Holtzmann has one hand still wrapped tightly in Erin's hair, the other finds its way to the nipple that Erin isn't playing with so lightly it feels like torture. She is rougher with this one, pinching it and rolling it between her fingers, and when Erin gives her piercing a careful tug, she moans, loudly, and brings her hand up to cover her mouth. Erin's tongue finally finds its way to Holtzmann's clit, followed closely by her beautiful lips. She closes them around it for a moment and licks, gently, before starting to suck.

It isn't long before Holtzmann is writhing on the couch, moaning into her hand, and finally, hips bucking uncontrollably and Erin's name on her lips, she comes. 

Erin looks up at her, lips shiny and chin dripping, and Holtzmann  pulls her close and nearly starts to cry. She has no idea if this can last, or if Erin just wanted one night (an experiment, maybe?) but Erin doesn't really seem the type for one night stands, and anyways, if this is all she gets from Erin, it's enough. It's been maybe a year and a half since another woman made her come, the girls she picks up in bars are usually more interested in things going the other way. And Holtzmann can't complain, she thinks, she really does like giving women orgasms. But seeing Erin come apart under her fingers is head and shoulders above the rest. And the way Erin's tongue felt, tentative at first, then absolutely detrimental as she got bolder... Holtzmann holds her close and basks in her warmth, trying not to think that this might be the last time she gets to be this close to Erin.

Eventually Erin gets up. “We ought to go to bed now—it's gotten pretty late.”

Holtzmann feels her chest grow tight but she nods, stands, and begins to gather up her clothes. Erin picks up hers and folds them absentmindedly. They walk up the staircase together and Holtzmann pauses in front of Erin's room, hoping for a chance to kiss her goodnight.

Erin doesn't notice, simply slips into her room, leaving the door open, drops her folded clothes onto her bed, tugs a t-shirt and sweatpants out of her dresser, and looks up at Holtzmann, frozen in the doorway.  She appears confused for a moment, then nods, apparently understanding something, and says, “Your bedroom, then?” as she joins Holtz in the doorway.

Holtzmann nods, barely believing this, before she remembers that she's spent the night in bed with Erin before, because Erin has nightmares, so of course Erin  would want her company tonight. Erin falls into bed with her, pulling the covers up to her neck, and Holtzmann cannot help but take her into her arms. She falls asleep, fully expecting to wake up alone.

But in the morning, when she opens her eyes, Erin is curled peacefully against her chest, reading the New York Times on her phone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I want to write more of this but let me know what you think.


End file.
